I love my family. They're great.
They're big and loud and funny and genuine and joyful. You'd love them. I love them. I love spending time with them. I love talking to them. I love visiting them. I love having them visit. And, I also kiiiiiinda like it when they leave.
ONLY A LITTLE BIT!!! A little TINY bit. BARELY AT ALL!
This is something new.
When David & I first got married, I would cry almost every time we left my parents house after a visit. It just always made me feel so sad to realize that my life as a kid in my family was over- I wouldn't live there anymore, keep my clothes there, sleep there, dwell there. As much as I loved to visit, it wasn't 'home' anymore, at least not in the practical sense of the word. And I desperately wanted it to be. For awhile, it almost felt like I was mourning the loss of childhood. The days when I lived in someone else's house, when someone else was responsible for all the big stuff, when someone else took care of me. Now, we were taking care of ourselves, and it was scary.
I don't cry anymore when I leave my parent's house. Sometimes I'm sad to go, or sad to see them go, but not in the same way as I once was.
Somewhere along the line, my idea of home changed. And then, somewhere else along the line, my idea of family changed. My parents will ALWAYS be my parents. My brothers and sisters will ALWAYS be my brothers and sisters. They will ALWAYS be my family. Those bonds don't disappear or even weaken. But now, it seems the circle has expanded a little. And the center has shifted.
Now, when people ask about my family, the first people I think of are David and Henry. When did that happen??? For so long, my family was my mom, my dad, my Justin, Mark, Mary Catherine, Franklin, and Annie. For so long. And now, they spring to mind second. Not less, just second.
My family is my husband. My family is my son.
My son, who is now hollering in his crib. Guess naptime, and therefore, introspective time, is over, at least for now. Gotta go check on my family.